She
knows them, so I just shifted the old sad, scary lines to:
"_Guard me through the starry night,
Wake me safe with sunshine bright!_"
"But Mickey, that's lovely!" cried the nurse. "Wait till I write it down!
I'll teach it to my little people. Half of them come here knowing that
prayer and when they are ill, they begin to think about it. Some of them
are old enough to worry over it. Why you're a poet, Mickey!"
"Sure!" conceded Mickey. "That's what I'm going to be when I get through
school. I'm going to write a poetry piece about Lily for the first sheet
of the _Herald_ that'll be so good they'll pay me to write one every day,
but all of them will be about her."
"Mickey, is there enough of such a little girl to furnish one every day?"
asked the nurse.
"Surest thing you know!" cried Mickey enthusiastically. "Why there are the
hundred gold rings on her head, one for each; and her eyes, tender and
teasy, and sad and glad, one for each; and the colour of them different a
dozen times a day, and her little white face, and her lips, and her smile,
and when she's good, and when she's bad; why Miss, there's enough of Lily
for a book big as Mr.
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